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“Hyung, do you think we would’ve been friends if we hadn’t debuted together?”
Sion replays Daeyoung’s words in his mind over and over again. He knows they don’t really matter—having been a spur of the moment question he’d decided to ask because the silence between them had stretched too long to bear—but he repeats them over and over again like they do.
And Sion’s a good friend and a good leader and he’s not stupid so he knows why Daeyoung’s asking, but when he’d answered, “Of course. Why wouldn’t we be,” he’d thought—maybe simply hoped—that would’ve been the end of it.
Sion guesses Daeyoung knows how he looks at him by now. With a heavy gaze that lasts just long enough that it can’t be accidental. And he’d be lying if he said it was purely physical—that all he wanted was to be held between Daeyoung’s arms, like he holds Riku and Yushi and Sakuya and Ryo when they ask him to, or maybe in ways he’s never held the rest of them before—but he knows by now that it isn’t. Because if it had been, something would’ve already happened between them, and then the feelings would’ve left as quickly as they’d arrived.
Instead, they fester between Sion’s ribs like mould, and he wishes he could cough them out and watch them float around in the air but instead he continues to wheeze and hopes somebody will notice he’s choking. (And hopes somebody will arrive to decontaminate his lungs.)
Daeyoung confuses Sion more than anything. He puts himself below each and every one of the other members in ways that don't even make sense. It’s a known fact that he’s the best vocalist in the group so he can’t rank anywhere below them in that sense, and Sion thinks he’d probably try if that weren’t the case so he’s grateful it is, but he can’t help but try when it comes to other things. When Riku asks him to play along with his stupid on-camera bits and smiles like he loves it; when Ryo gets irritated at something he did (by accident, of course—he never seems to hurt anyone purposefully) he waits until he’s ready to speak to him again, and when he apologises for his behaviour he tells him it’s no worries, it doesn’t even matter, because it seemingly doesn’t.
But there’s one thing, something that’s been rattling around in Sion’s skull whenever he tries his best to understand Daeyoung, to comprehend exactly why he is the way he is, and it’s that Yushi likes Daeyoung in a way he never liked Sion.
He wouldn’t say he likes Daeyoung more—of course not, they don’t share the history they do—but it’s different. It’s different to the way that, when Sion’s exhausted, Yushi gives him space before he even needs to ask, but when Yushi’s exhausted, Daeyoung does the same for him. When Sion wants to speak, Yushi listens, and when Yushi wants to speak, Daeyoung listens.
And sometimes, when Sion’s feeling particularly sentimental, he wonders who listens to Daeyoung.
When Sion leaves the shower, towel still around his neck, catching any water droplets that threaten to travel from his head, into his shirt, and down his spine, just like unruly droplets of sweat following a performance, he notices Daeyoung fast asleep on the couch, TV remote still in hand.
In an attempt not to wake him (or, maybe selfishly, in the hopes that he’ll wake), Sion moves to remove the remote from Daeyoung’s grasp, and he immediately begins to groan. He yawns, rubbing his eyes with the balls of his palms, and his mouth opens so wide Sion thinks maybe he’ll fall in.
“Oh, hey hyung.” He smiles when he finally opens his eyes, his gaze falling on Sion. He’s suddenly acutely aware of how low his neckline is, how much collarbone is showing, and just how close he’s hovering above Daeyoung’s body. He moves to sit beside him instead, and Daeyoung, ever considerate, bends his legs to give him space. “D’you just come out of the bathroom?”
“Yeah,” Sion responds, head still spinning from the heat of the shower. “You were sleeping?”
“Just taking a nap,” Daeyoung says, then punctuates it with a yawn, as if trying to emphasise just how tired he was, suggesting that a nap was necessary rather than an indulgence, a lapse of judgment, a mistake. Daeyoung doesn’t seem to let himself make mistakes, Sion notices. Tucks away to think about later. “Today drained me. The schedules felt like they lasted ages.”
And here—here, Sion thinks, is an opportunity. Because he thinks a lot. He thinks and he wonders and he calculates and he knows that if he were to place himself slightly above Daeyoung in this specific moment, maybe to boost his own ego, maybe in a sick attempt to put the other man down, he’d let him. He always lets him. He lets anyone.
“They didn’t feel that long to me,” Sion says.
“Oh,” Daeyoung responds, eyes narrowing, but not unkindly. “Makes sense. You trained for way longer than me, after all.”
“I did, didn’t I?” And with that, the conversation lulls, the silence heavy within the living room, like lead, like molten lava, like the core of the earth. Sion wonders distantly where the others are, what they’re up to, why they won’t save him from whatever this is. But they don’t show up, and Sion is left to his own devices.
“Did you dream?”
“Huh,” Daeyoung responds off guard, like he’d been on the verge of entering a dreamlike state at that very moment. “Oh, um—yeah, actually. How’d you know?”
“Intuition,” Sion lies, and Daeyoung laughs at that, a weak chuckle, nothing like the full-body laughs that escape him when they’re on camera. Something more natural; not that the other ones are unnatural, because Daeyoung doesn’t seem to know how to be anything but natural and honest and himself, but this one is more restrained. Almost as if he’s hiding something.
“You were in it,” he finally says, and if Sion thinks he might’ve seen regret flash across Daeyoung’s expression for a moment, he doesn’t acknowledge it.
“Oh, yeah?” He asks. “What was I doing?”
“Oh, well, I guess it wasn’t just you. Everyone was in it. All six of us.”
“Okay…” Sion says. “So? What was it about?”
Then Daeyoung widens his eyes, raises his eyebrows, and looks at him as solemnly as he possibly can, just like he always does, and Sion feels weak in the knees despite already being seated. He grasps both of Sion’s hands in his own, his thicker fingers wrapped around Sion’s thinner, yet longer, ones, and smiles awkwardly.
“You have to promise not to make fun of me.”
And it takes everything in Sion not to laugh. Because the younger man, with his shining eyes and desperation and poorly concealed anxiety, looks so pathetic he wants to ridicule him. Somewhere deep down, he thinks maybe he’s always had that urge—to make Daeyoung, who’s so tall and handsome and supposedly perfect, feel so very small and pitiful. And yet, here he is, doing it himself, just like he always does. Sion doesn’t even get a chance to try.
“You know I can’t promise that,” Sion responds eventually, attempting to hide a snicker, and when Daeyoung begins to pull away, he grabs his hands with his own. “Okay, okay, I’m sorry. I promise not to make fun of you. Okay?”
And when Daeyoung looks him dead in the eyes, and seems to find something within him that’s satisfactory, he nods, almost mindlessly.
“Well, okay, so. I was at a concert right, and everyone around me was singing our songs, but I was confused because, like, I wasn’t on stage. You know?” Sion nods, so Daeyoung continues. “And then, um, I looked up and I noticed—what, there’s only five of them—and when I tried to get on stage, to tell the security I belonged there, that I’m part of NCT Wish too, they laughed in my face and kicked me out.
“And then, like—oh, sorry, am I boring you?” Daeyoung suddenly asks, incomprehensibly genuine, to which Sion wipes the moisture from the corners of his eyes, that had slowly grown glassy and unfocused with exhaustion, and responds, “no, don’t worry about it. It’s fine.”
And so Daeyoung doesn’t worry about it. It’s funny how easily he takes everyone else's word as gospel.
“Okay, so—where was I? Oh, yeah, so I got kicked out. And then—and then as I was sitting on the floor, getting rained on and stuff like a loser, you guys came out, and then you looked me up and down, and I could tell from your gaze that you didn’t, well, recognise me, but you gave me an umbrella like I was a stray dog and then you left. And then it was weird because I opened my eyes and there you were. Like you hadn’t left at all.”
“Do you dream about that kind of stuff often?” Sion asks, and he’s unsure why. Curiosity is one explanation. Recklessness is another.
“What kind of stuff?”
“You know—being left out, abandoned. Stuff like that.”
Daeyoung rubs the back of his neck bashfully and slumps slightly, as if trying to curl in on himself, which looks funny considering how huge he is compared to the couch they currently share. “Not really? I mean, I know it won’t happen. You guys need me just as much as I need you, but— I don’t know. I guess sometimes my mind plays tricks on me.”
“You need me?” Sion repeats.
“Well, yeah. Not just you, hyung, all of you. Like, I don’t know, being an idol gives my life meaning, you know? Otherwise, I don’t know what I’d be doing. I’d probably be happy, but it wouldn’t be the same.”
“Daeyoung,” Sion suddenly says, inching only slightly closer, his knee practically a hair’s width away from Daeyoung’s own, and he smiles, but he knows it doesn’t reach his eyes. “I don’t, well— I think I lied to you.”
“Oh?” Daeyoung says, confusion painting his expression something hard to decipher, which bothers Sion. “About what?”
“Uh,” Sion hesitates. “I said we would’ve been friends even if we didn’t debut together, but I lied.”
“Oh,” Daeyoung mutters, then when his mind seems to make sense of it in a way that he’s satisfied with, he laughs. “That makes sense, hyung.”
“No, wait, I don’t think you get it. Don’t you wanna know why I lied?”
“Only if you want me to know.”
“I do.” Sion hopes he comes across as sincere as he’s trying to.
“Then tell me.”
“I lied because, um,” Sion starts, then stops. Takes a deep breath. Repositions himself on the sofa. Daeyoung watches him with a soft smile the entire time. “I lied because I don’t think we would have anything in common. I don’t think we do have anything in common, Daeyoung-ah. Nothing but the group.”
“Oh,” Daeyoung says again, like it’s all he can say, and Sion kind of wants to strangle him. “I guess, uh. I guess that makes sense. What— why did you want me to know that, hyung?”
“Because,” Sion says, leaning in to rest a hand on Daeyoung’s knee, to run his fingertips along his leg. They’re so close Sion can feel the way his breath catches when he runs his fingernails along his inner thigh. “Because I don’t even think we’re friends now. Not really.” And maybe that’s a hurtful thing to say, maybe Sion’s a huge asshole, maybe he always has been, but Daeyoung looks, well—something bordering on hopeless. And Sion hasn’t seen that expression on him before.
Daeyoung frowns. “Is it because I haven’t known you as long as the others?” When he gets no answer, he sighs and frowns harder, like he’s an actual dog, rather than a man. “I thought we were pretty close, hyung, but, I don’t know. I guess I’ll never have anything on you and Yushi.”
Sion moves his hand away.
“Who said anything about Yushi?”
“Uh, well, I just thought—” Daeyoung sputters, momentarily blindsided, before he continues. “You’ve known each other for ages, right? You probably get one another in a way I couldn’t even imagine. It’s sweet, really.”
“Daeyoung,” Sion says.
“Yeah, hyung?”
“Can you dry my hair for me?”
If Daeyoung’s taken aback, he doesn’t show it. He simply removes the towel from around Sion’s neck and brings it up to his hair, drying it slowly and cautiously, nothing like how rough Sion usually does it. It feels nice.
“You smell good, hyung,” Daeyoung says, and Sion doesn’t smile at that. He doesn’t laugh, although God knows he wants to. He shuts his eyes and gives Daeyoung unspoken permission to move closer. “Like vanilla. You always smell the same, don’t you?”
Sion doesn’t answer, just lets the question linger. As Daeyoung seemingly scoots closer, their knees eventually touching, he finds that he can’t keep himself balanced without resting his hands on Daeyoung’s thighs. So when they find their way there, with Sion’s eyes still closed, he feels that maybe nothing that’s happening right now is real. He runs his palms along where they’re currently resting, feeling how soft Daeyoung’s pyjama trousers are beneath, and sighs, leaning further into the touch, into the feel of Daeyoung’s warm hands massaging his scalp.
“Daeyoung-ah,” he says. “I think it’s dry now. Could you check?” And then Daeyoung audibly gulps, which Sion actually, finally, lets a laugh out at. Daeyoung must not notice, however, because his hands are already in Sion’s hair. He can’t help but open his eyes.
The overhead light in the living room is still on, leaving a ghastly white tint over everything, but Sion can see the warmth on Daeyoung’s cheeks and that’s probably why he reaches out to touch them—to make them just as cold as everything else in the room.
“Ah, hyung,” he flinches, “your hands are cold.”
“Really?”
“Yeah, but I guess they’re getting warmer now.”
“That’s good then,” Sion says. And Daeyoung seems to get distracted by something, his hands still fiddling with Sion’s hair, now almost definitely dry, when he asks, “so?”
“Oh, yeah,” Daeyoung says. “It’s dry.” Then he pulls his hands away and Sion misses the warmth, as pathetic as that sounds. It’s weird. The other members probably wouldn’t touch him like this, or if they did they’d ask why, maybe even ask for something in return. But Daeyoung doesn’t and Sion won’t ask why because he doesn’t want to overstep and it doesn’t even really matter as long as that doesn’t change. As long as Daeyoung allows Sion to take and take and take and not have to worry about the consequences.